My Brother and I
by TheLostStoryteller
Summary: Matthew Williams is just a normal 15-year-old boy... Right? He has friends like everybody else and a happy, caring family... Right? Rated M for masturbation, rape, alcohol use, physical abuse. Self-harm, emotional abuse, drug use, prostitution and lemon in later chapters. America/Canada, Canada/?.
1. Chapter 1

**Yet another squeamish, semi-depressing story that has managed to escape the enclosures inside of my noggin. Oh well. A very dark story about poor little Canada and how he gets picked on. One of my more personal fanfictions as I can relate to certain aspects of this.**

**Warnings (Ch. 1): Masturbation, rape, alcohol use and physical abuse.**

* * *

Name: Matthew Williams.

Class: 3B.

Dear diary,

My name is Matthew Williams. I am 8. I like pancakes and my polar bear, Kumajiro. I don't like heights. I love my family, they make me happy. I love my life.

* * *

"Go to the park, give your father and I some alone time for once." You say nothing as you look over at your brother, the boys' eyes widening as he looks up from his XBox 360 controller.

"But, Daaaaad..."

"No buts. Go put on your shoes and go down to the park for a bit. I'll call you when dinner is ready." The Brit mutters, turning his back and walking away as he mutters something under his breath about insolent young brats.

"God damnit." the American mumbles as he grabs his shoes, your eyes silently following him. You quietly grab your black leather boots as you lace them up, pulling on a coat as you step outside, your body taking no time at all to adjust to the temperature. You jump a little as you hear the door slam behind you, said noise snapping you from your daydreaming.

"So... Ready to go, bro?" The American grins as he visibly pales at the weather, the tip of his nose and ears turning a pale pink. you nod, a bright Hollywood smile being flashed at you once more as the pair of you begin towards the park. It doesn't take long to get there and you both immediately begin to go through the motions. You kick off your shoes, setting them on a park bench before taking the four-step trek to the swing set. You run to get the swing with the hard bottom, laughing slightly when your brother begins to complain about getting the 'baby swing.'

"... You always get the big swing, I want it!" His complaining slowly ceases as you leave the swing after occupying it for around 10 minutes, heading for the see-saw. Alfred tails after you, the two of you sitting down on opposite ends as you begin idle conversation; something to pass the time. You sit there for what feels like hours, talking about the few things you can have civil conversations about - porn, sport and video games. After a while, Alfreds' face breaks out in a sly smirk.

"Maaaan, I feel like fapping..." He leans back on the see-saw, his hair falling away from his face as he stares at the clouds.

"Do it?" You mutter, shrugging your shoulders, your voice laced with sarcasm.

"... Really?" The boy asks, his sapphire eyes widening a little as he looks at you. You shrug, smiling a little.

"Whatever takes your fancy." You smile a little, voice just about dripping sarcasm. Your violet eyes widen a little as your brother reaches for his fly, undoing it as he carefully pulls out his somehow already hard member.

_'What the fuck... ?'_ You keep see-sawing, trying to keep your gaze averted as your brother begins to masturbate in front of you, his hand running up and down his cock. After about 5 minutes, you can't help yourself. You allow your eyes to linger over his cock a little, your teeth clamping down onto your tongue as you watch him stoke himself.

_'It's so big...'_ You think to yourself, cringing at the thought that your brother has a bigger dick than you. Then again, he is a year older, and it's not that much bigger, anyways. You quickly avert your eyes, trying not to blush as you continue to ride the see-saw. Your brother starts talking about video games so you look at him out of respect, only to see him blushing brightly, eyes glimmering with lust. You quickly look away, shooting glances at him when you're certain he isn't looking. You break out of your daydreaming when you feel a hand cover your mouth, your eyes widening as you notice that your brother isn't there anymore.

"Matthew..." You hear him mutter from behind you, his breath tickling your ear. You shudder as you attempt to stand up, only to be pushed back down and blindfolded. You begin to panic.

"A-Alfred, w-what are you doing?" You look in the general direction of the man, trying your hardest to see through your blindfold. Your eyes open with surprise as you feel something warm and hard pressed against your lips, its texture unfamiliar to you.

"Suck it." You begin to struggle, attempting to push him away as you feel him grab your hands, your panic level rapidly increasing.

"I-I d-don-" Your sentence is cut off as your brother thrusts his dick into your mouth, a muffled squeal escaping you. You quickly tilt your head upwards in his direction, crying out in pain as you feel a foot collide with your shin.

"I said suck." You whimper in pain as you suck the appendage gently, moving your head up and down a little, your eyes watering in shame. You keep your eyes closed as you feel your brother harshly grab your head, moving it back and forth rapidly.

"Did I say slowly? No. Now hurry up." He mutters, grinding his heel against the already-forming bruise on your shin, causing you to whimper, your teeth clamping down on Alfreds' cock, the man making a low-pitched, pained noise. You whimper as you feel him pull your head up by your hair, your eyes clenched shut as tears begin to slowly drip from them, staining the black blindfold.

"You insolent brat." He spits as he rips off the blindfold, his eyes ablaze with hate and anger. "You're going to have to pay for that. Turn around." You whimper as you're picked up off the see-saw and put onto the tanbark, the man roughly throwing you on your knees, your pants down and head against the ground. You shudder as you hear him spit into his hand, tears trickling down your face at a constant rate.

"A-Alfred, I-I'm-" You are cut off by an animalistic scream as your brother thrusts into you, the American swearing at the resistance, thrusting harder and harder 'till his member is buried inside of you. Tears stream down your face at the pain, Alfreds' pants and moans making you want to vomit.

"S-S-Stop it, p-please!" You scream at the top of your lungs, voice cracking between broken sobs. You only wail louder as the man says nothing, a hand muffling your screams as you feel yourself tear wider, blood running down the back of your thighs.

"Mmng, you're so tight..." the American mutters in your ear, biting down on it harshly, blood seeping slowly from the small wounds. You let out another loud, muffled cry as you feel your brother slam into something that makes you see spots, your member hardening to its full length, much to the enjoyment of the other.

"You complain so much... Yet you mean it so little..." You stare at the tanbark as you look at the wet patch your tears have created, shame, embarrassment and hate dripping out of your eyes and falling off your chin. Your violet orbs shoot open as you feel a hand wrap itself around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts, a whimper escaping your lips as you blush.

"P-Please, s-stop it..." You look up at him through your stretched legs, the volume of your tears increasing as you see the first droplet of blood splatter onto the tanbark below.

"N-Now, why w-would I do th-that?" The man groans audibly into your ear, sharp teeth deepening the small cuts already there. You whimper as he licks the cuts, a familiar warmth pooling in your stomach, your eyes clenched shut in pain as you feel Alfred release inside you, the saltiness of the liquid mixing with blood, stinging your ripped, raped entrance as it dribbles from your ass. Alfred wastes no time in pulling out quickly, slapping you harshly across the back of your head before putting his pants back on as he grabs his shoes, walking back home without you. When you're sure he's out of earshot, you let your knees and arms give out from beneath you, your bleeding, battered body falling into a heap on the tanbark below. You allow yourself to be overcome with sobs as you lay there, the only thing visible behind your closed eyes is the face of your brother as he raped you.

* * *

After laying, motionless, in the same spot for about half an hour, you slowly use the see-saw to help yourself onto your feet, moaning loudly in pain as you feel the tears along your entrance being ripped open again. You quickly pull up your pants, staggering over to the park bench where your shoes are, tears slowly dripping from the corners of your eyes as you slip your shoes on. You begin the short stumble across the road, staggering the last few steps to get in the back door of your house, wiping the tear tracks from your face and drying your eyes as you open the back door, stumbling into the laundry before grabbing onto the washing machine for support. You swear as the top comes off in your hand, your eyes clenching shut as you fall backwards, your head colliding with the wire door as the world spins.

"Is zat you, Mattheeeeew~?"

_'Oh, shit.'_ "O-Oui, papa." You mutter, biting your tongue so hard it bleeds at you stand up, the joint pain from both your ass and your head causing you to groan loudly. You gently lever yourself up onto the top of the washing machine, the lid being placed back over the top of it, your eyes widening in pain as you sit.

"Matheeew, my leetle boy~" You flinch as you see your papa come around the corner, your eyes lowering a little as you spy the near-empty wine bottle in his hand. You squeak in alarm as he grabs you by your throat, slamming you against the wall, a choked, pained noise escaping you.

"Where has you been?" He mutters, slapping you harshly, a sharp breath being drawn in through your nose.

"I-I was a-at the park." You stutter, the mans' hand growing tighter around your neck.

"Alfreed says you were weeth anozer man, non?" Your eyes widen as you see his face come closer to yours, shuddering slightly as you smell the bitter wine on his breath. You quickly shake your head, receiving a harsh punch in the hip, a wrangled cry ripping itself from your throat.

"Don't you lie to me." He grunts, his hand reaching into the back of your pants, a scream escaping your lips as he shoves two fingers roughly inside you. You clench your eyes shut as you feel the tears re-open for the third time, the man smirking as he draws out bloody and cum-soaked fingers, licking them off before punching you in the face, right over your eye.

"I told you not to lie to me, non?" He growls as he hits you over the head with his half-empty wine bottle, glass shattering as it embeds itself into your scalp, remaining alcohol and glass shards raining down around you. You're out cold now, but your papa doesn't care.

"Stupid fucking Canadian." He growls out an animalistic sound, his sapphire eyes ablaze as he continues to throw more uncoordinated punches - two black eyes, bruised ribs, thighs and shins. He throws a last punch into your manhood for good measure, throwing your limp, lifeless body against a wall, grinning at it as it slides down, the usually white surface smeared with red. He spits on your unconscious body before stumbling out of the room, an insane grin on his twisted features.

* * *

Name: Matthew Williams.

Class: 10E.

Dear diary,

My name is Matthew Williams. I am a year 10 at Hetalia World Academy and am 15 years old. I have no friends, and nobody remembers me. My father hits me and my brother sexually assaults me. I hate my life and I want to die.

* * *

**A/N: I don't know how this fanfiction will go down with the readers, but oh well. Please rate and review, don't hesitate to point out any mistakes and/or plot holes, etc. See you all next chapter!**

**-Nimu.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you all for so many views! I appreciate and love every one of you! Also, a shout-out to the anonymous, yet awesome Aria for the first review! This chapter is a continuation of the last, Britain finally making an appearance and the story continues relatively where it left off~  
Warnings (Ch. 2): Blood, bugs and nakedness.

* * *

-Canada's POV-

"M-Matthew…" You open your mouth as you try to cry out in pain, only to find that you can't, only making you try even harder.  
"Sssh, calm down. It's alright…" You lay there numbly, your head spinning as you hear and feel the ants and bugs around you feasting on your bloodied, wine-splattered body.

"Come, let's get you patched up. Can you stand?" You shake your head at the near-whispering voice before you, your eyes opening a little, the mans' concerned eyes locking with yours. You open your mouth to protest as the man loops one arm around your waist and the other under your knees, his face visibly paling with the sickening _rip_ noise you makes as you're hauled off the floor and into the mans' gentle arms.

"Be quiet, Matthew, alright?" He mumbles softly, stroking your hair gently as you stare at him numbly, the man taking your answer as a yes when you don't reply. You allow yourself to be carried through the laundry and into the kitchen, where the smell of baking hits your nostrils – making you gag. Your hands ball in the mans' shirt as you begin to feel faint, the man sneaking through the loungeroom and into the corridor connecting the bedrooms. He wonders slowly down the end of the corridor, mumbling something in a foreign language before a painting hanging on the wall slides back, a set of dark, wooden steps leading upwards appearing. He quickly and gently carries you up them, mumbling the same phrase yet again, the sound of the door closing behind the two of you echoing up the stairs as you come to a flat space – the attic, you believe. You relax into the man as you smell the familiar scent of mint and tea waft through your senses, your father gently setting you down onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, your body sinking into it comfortably. The comfort, however, doesn't distract you from the pain shooting through your legs and up your back from your ass, however. You prop your head up carefully as you look at the blonde man pulling a stool up beside your bed, his legs crossed with one arm supporting his chin.

"W-What happened… ?" He asks slowly, your brain not caring to reply to the man before you. You look away, eyes filling with tears. He pats you on the head gently as he gets up, going over to the opposite corner as he hears the kettle boil. He quietly makes a pot of mint tea, carrying both the pot and two teacups with him, setting them gently on the table beside him.

"Can you sit up…?" He asks, his eyes hesitant. You shrug, attempting to haul yourself up with your arms, only managing to get into a semi-elevated position. He gently puts his arms beneath you, shifting you in the bed, moving you to a sitting position, your violet-blue eyes glimmering with tears. The man releases you slowly, the full blow of your injuries hitting you for the first time since they were created, your eyes flying open as a pained, silent scream rips itself from your throat, tears flowing freely down your face.

"Ssssh…" The man mumbles, an arm around your delicate shoulder as you sob, his other arm reaching for something else he bought over with him on the tray – something you didn't see before. He pulls away slowly so not to startle you as he hands you a mug, grabbing it gently with your right hand, wincing as you do so, although you know that the left wouldn't be much better, if not worse. The man ensures you have a good hold of it before letting it go. You drink it carefully, ensuring not to spill any on yourself as you feel it glide down your throat, soothing your sore muscles along the way, a small smile playing at your lips. You don't know how you can smile after everything that's happened to you, but you can still do it. After drinking about four cups of tea, taking some high-strength Panadol and calming significantly, the man begins to explain things according to him. It doesn't surprise you when he says he didn't find you for three days – you're used to that. You roll your tired eyes slightly as you listen to the man before you apologise profusely.

"I… I-It's okay…" You cough a little as your voice cracks, the near-whisper becoming increasingly fainter as you finish your sentence. It's all worth it, however, for the way his emerald eyes light up, the unidentifiable emotions swirling in them seeming to lose their intensity a little as you speak. He smiles a little before looking down briefly, smile dying as he looks at you again, his eyes gentle, caring almost.

"Matthew, I'm going to have to take a look at your injuries…" The man mumbles, his British accent seeming to be absorbed by the walls of this seemingly safe and cosy hide-away. You nod, allowing the man to slowly remove your clothing with the small knife in his hand tearing carefully through the material, his shocked gasps as he unveils yet another part of your body never failing to escape him. You look hesitantly up at the men, noting the look in his eyes as you die a little inside.

"W-Who did this… "He mutters softly, sadness, anger and regret mingling in those three words. You shake your head carefully in reply, the man sighing.

"You have to tell me, Matthew…" You look away, biting your tongue as you fight back tears, the man moving his stool a little as he takes his medical kit from the bedside table, placing it next to the tea and teacups. He quickly sets up his supplies, looking you in the eye gently.

"I'm going to start patching you up now, alright?" You nod meagrely as you see him grab a tub, putting a little of the cream onto his fingers, rubbing his fingers gently along your neck. He strategically spreads the cream over your bruises, slowly moving over your torso and arms, ensuring that he doesn't miss a spot. You wince and pull away slightly at times as he applies it to you, the man quietly reassuring you every time that it'll get better faster if you cooperate with him. You make no noise as he finishes smothering your marks in the cream, moving to your ear with antiseptic fluid, cotton swabs and medical tape.

You wince as you feel the wet cotton lean the dried blood, dirt and a few dead bugs from your ear, the open wounds stinging as the air hits them. A hiss escapes you as you feel the antiseptic-drenched cotton swabs run over them, ensuring that they're well-cleaned before taping a fresh ball of the white fluff over your ear carefully, ensuring that he doesn't damage you any further. You begin to space out as he begins the slow, painful task of cleaning you up, disinfecting, bandaging and stitching your bruised, broken body back together. You take a teacup of the mint tea from your father as he hands it to you, being cautious of your lightly bandaged arms and well-supported neck as you sip at it, yet another cough lolly being popped into your mouth as you suck on it gently.

"So… What happened this time?"

* * *

**-EDIT 1-**

I was re-reading this chapter on my iPod (as you do), and it just didn't seem to flow like I wanted it to, so I spent some time on my sick day re-writing it. The changes aren't all that major, although I figured that I should enlighten everybody about them anyways.

**A/N: **I wanted to do a cliffhanger… I hope it worked. Anyways, this chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided to shorten it down somewhat. I'm trying to keep the chapters somewhere between 1,000-1,500 words long, minus Authors' Notes and/or descriptions and translations.

Please rate, review and tell me what you think'll happen next chapter! The next chapter shall hopefully be up soon~

Laters,

-Nimu.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings (Ch. 3): References to previous chapters' rape/violence and references to self-harm.**

* * *

You sigh as you stand behind a bushy, dark green tree, quietly observing your classmates as they wait around for your form teacher to turn up. You look over at your brother, a lonely look crossing your soft, pale features as you watch them. Jumping on top of the lone picnic table in the small clearing outside the N wing classrooms, his two friends laughing from the hard, concrete stairs as he begins to pull poses, quoting one o his favorite movies. You sigh as you hear Gilbert scream something in return, his red eyes seeming to glow through the leaves as he throws a book at Alfred then man jumping of the table in a dramatic mater, cradling the book like a baby before falling flat on his face in a majestic manner. You roll your eyes as the boy seems to disappear for a second, the voice that could only belong to a true Spaniard blurting out something about gay sex, pineapples and a manicure all in one sentence neither of the two caring as they continue to laugh at one-another. You sigh to yourself as you see the man that is your teacher coming slowly towards your class, a smile smile gracing his features as he talked to one of the Chinese exchange students, Yao. You quickly get up onto your feet as the class saunters in after the teacher, your limbs already feeling heavy as you take the first right, wondering quietly into one of the vis-com rooms, taking your seat on the side of the room, towards the back windows. You quietly take out a book, flipping to the chapter you were up to as you give the pages your undivided attention.

You jump a little as you hear the bell go, the signal to head to period 1 barley registering in your sleep-deprived brain. It's not your fault you're an insomniac... Really, it isn't. You stand as you quickly gather your art books, swearing under your breath as you trip over a stray power cord, books being strewn across the floor. You gather them up with a heavy sigh, quickly leaving the room as you walk down the corridor, taking the last left. You relax a little as you slide the door of the art room open, the familiar, comforting smell of paint, paper and pens invading your sensed. You choose one of the desks up he back and sit at it, deciding to take the seat closest to the window. You wince a little as you sit down, feeling your stitches pull at your flesh, but the wounds otherwise remaining closed. You sigh as you relax into your chair, jumper folded beneath you, serving as a makeshift cushion for your still-sore and vulnerable ass. You say nothing as the class starts the teacher beginning to talk as he hands out the worksheets, skipping you, as per usual. You quietly get up and grab your brown folder from the tub at the front of the room, the orange and yellow-accented letters 'MW' in gothic lettering standing out beautifully against the dark brown card. You reach into your folder as you grab out the project you were supposed to be working on, being thankful that you remembered to take a fineliner from the room the day before at lunch. You quietly pull out the contents of your pocket, laying them out on the table. Two red pens, two blue, two four-pens, two erasers and two pencil sharpeners, their blades stained a coppery colour. You pay no heed to that as yo continue working on your picture, the assignment being a very time-consuming one - drawing a portrait of someone, half of it shaded in greylead pencils of various strengths while the other half with stippling. After about ten minutes, you begin to hear people complain.

"So many fucking dots..."

"... This is gonna drive me bloody barmy."

"Who the hell even thought of this stupid idea!?" You very quickly grow tired of the blatant complaining, putting in your earphones, the white cord being hidden under your school uniform, the light blue button-up top and black pants hiding the headphones well. You straighten your repulsive blue-purple coloured tie as you fetch your iPod from the depths of your pocket, putting your playlist of sad and depressing music on before returning it to your pocket.

An hour and 20 minutes later, you hear your teacher give the pack-up call, everybody quickly finishing up what they were doing as they begin to pack everything away - paints in the paint tub, pencils and fineliners back i their pots and boxes, your teeth grinding gently as you see at least three students pocket one of said fineliners before returning their folders, returning to their spots as they eagerly await the bell. You quietly clamber to your feet as you return your folder to the tub, the pen you stole yesterday once again being pocketed as you return to your seat, scribbling in your small A5 drawing book as you wait patiently for the bell. After roughly 5 minutes, the bell finally goes, the signal for recess blaring throughout the school. You wait for everyone to leave the corridors before exiting the room, making your way to your locker, the smell of sweat from the overly congested area making you gag slightly. You stand in front of your locker, carefully twisting the knob before pulling the lock downwards, your locker swinging open. You remove your lock, twirling said object around your pointer finger of your left hand, deftly putting it on top of your bag as you return your books, grabbing out a bottle of water and pocketing a small zip-lock bag of gummi bears. The door swings shut, the lock being twirled around your finger once more before clamping the door shut, a loud, calming slamming noise echoing through the corridor as it shuts.

You go to turn around, only for your eyes to meet wide violet ones, a childish smile only millimeters away from your own lips, the latter hanging wide open.

"Privet, Mattvey."  
You've never screamed so loud in your life.

* * *

**A/N: How was that? Sorry it's taken nearly 4 days to get the next chapter up, I've been a tad out of sorts. Then again, it usually takes forever for chapters to go up, so I maybe shouldn't be apologizing.**

**Please rate and/or review! Also, don't be afraid to pm me, I don't bite. c:**

**Laters,**

**-Nimu.**


	4. Chapter 4

**My Brother and I.**

Warnings (Ch. 4): Alcohol use, self-harm, depression, language, chloroform and Russia.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia in any way, shape or form.

* * *

For once, you're left home alone. Well... Almost alone. Your father, Arthur, is out of the house, apparently on a 'business meeting.' Even you know he's just spending time with one of his latest toys. Francis, your so-called 'papa' is out once again, getting drunk with his two friends - Gilbert and Antonio. It bothers you a little that your father is getting drunk with your brothers' friends, but it doesn't really matter. Alfred is sleeping over at Kikus' place, but it's fairly obvious that there's more between them than just friendship, despite the arguing and fighting they went through as children.

... And you, well, you're at home, sitting on the kitchen floor, feeling nothing close to safe, despite the fact that I'm surrounded with knives. Serrated, non-serrated, cheese knives, butter knives, self-sharpening, butchers' knives - almost every type you could imagine, minus a machete. _'One of those would be nice...' _You think to yourself blandly as you put your iPod into Alfreds' iPod dock on the kitchen table, setting it to shuffle as you sit before your laptop, sighing slightly, not knowing what to do. After about half an hour, you begin to get bored, so you make yourself a milkshake.

... Mape syrup flavour, of course. You quickly gather the ingredients, throwing it all together before throwing the product into the milkshake maker, retrieving it and drinking it greedily, ignoring the pain as you swallow down the concoction.

Another half an hour passes and you're beginning to get very upset. You don't know why, but you can feel it - walls closing in on you, a thumping noise that you barley register as the bass of your music getting louder and louder, closing in on you, threatening to swallow you whole. You quickly get up, wondering over to one of the many drawers in the kitchen - a top drawer. You open it, ensuring that nothing moves as you look over the contents. Malabu, Wipeout, Midori, Vodka. You close your eyes and mutter incoherently under your breath as you grab the latter of the lot, the bare look of the bottle making you shudder hard, eyes clouding over a little. You grab out a bottle of lemonade, pouring a small amount of the Vodka into a cup, filling the rest with lemonade, marveling as the bubbles very quickly disappear, heavily resembling water. You return the two bottles to their respective homes as you go back over to your computer, taking a generous sip of the liquid, groaning softly as it flows down your throat, the unique taste combination making you shudder.

You'd never really been one for alcohol, but tonight is an exception. You down the remainders of the cup fairly easily, returning to the drawer again, taking out the bottle of Russian water once more, diluting it once again with lemonade, although more of the former and less of the latter. You down that again, groaning a little as the world begins to feel a tad fuzzy around the edges, everything seeming funnier than it is, everything seeming soft to lie on. You sit on the floor, surrounded by knives with the bottle by your side, music from your iPod long being blacked out as white noise.

Half a cup of Vodka, half of lemonade. You down it with no problem, your glasses on the floor beside you, a knife slicing along your exposed thigh as you take another mouthful. Every time, you use a different knife - if you use just the right one, maybe you might die. You'd finally be free - the abuse, the violence, the swearing, the hate, the rape - away from it all.

You make yet another cupful of sadness - 3/4 Vodka, lemonade becoming less and less in quantity as the night progresses on. You smile widely as people begin to come see you - Prussia, Germany, the Italy brothers and Japan - they all come to say hello. You clamber to your feet as blood runs down your thighs, laughing, singing and dancing happily as they dance with you. You laugh loudly as the coloured lights around you begin to flash, laser lights bouncing along the walls as the music thumps through your ears.

You try to open your eyes, said violet-blue orbs widening as you realize what you are - you're all alone again. You fall to your knees, sobbing, the world very quickly fading to black around your teary, shaking figure. You reach blindly for the bottle one more, downing a straight mouthful of the burning fluid before everything goes black, the taunting face of your papa fading out of your vision, his eyes gleaming as he raises the knife above your head.

* * *

_"Privet, Mattvey."_

_You scream. _

_"... Mattvey? Are you okay, da?"_

_"I-I... I'm okay..." You mutter, staring at your feet._

_"How has you been?" The man smiles, his childish features making you cringe visibly._

_"Good..." You mutter, looking up at him, eyes locking with his, a perfectly fake smile gracing your lips - a believable one, at that. Your eyes widen a little as the man gasps, taking your face between his hands, one hand on either cheek._

_"Mattvey. What happened?" He asks darkly, his voice lowering to a growl as he looks you over, violet eyes darkening considerably as he begins to count your marks._

_"E-Eh? I-Nothing." You say, quickly pulling away from the man, madly blinking back tears._

_"Nothing doesn't cause bruises... ~" The man grins from ear to ear, giggling to himself as his teeth flash in the faint yellow lighting, eyes wide and sparkling._

_"Y-Yes it does!" You squeak, legs forcing themselves to move against your better judgment, sending you flying through the locker bay and out the door, the Russian man running after you, his footsteps getting closer and closer by the second._

_"Mattvey." The voice is whispered in your ear, tears running freely down your face. "You know you can't escape me..." Strong, muscular arms are wrapped around your waist, a startled scream escaping you as you're picked up off your feet, legs dangling loosely as you splutter for breath._

_"H-Help!" You manage to cry out, the man snickering as his face becomes shrouded by his long bangs, eyes seeming to glow through them._

_"Nobody can hear you... Nobody cares about you..." He mumbles, setting you down, kicking you hard in the back of your knees, legs temporarily out of action as he grabs you by the hair, dragging you away as you scream and cry out for help._

_"P-P-Please, I-Ivan, let m-me go..." You sob uncontrollably, feeling your hair being pulled follicle by follicle from your scalp._

_"Nyet. Not until you suffer..." He mutters, throwing your bruised, bloodied body into the back of his black van, crawling over your body, sitting over your waist. Your eyes widen fully as you see him draw out a dirty, damp rag, your breathing immediately becoming ragged. _

_"N-No, p-please, no!" You can say no more as the rag is placed over your mouth and nose, making muffled protests against the man as he giggles, holding it firmly in place as he watches your consciousness slip away from you, minute after minute._

* * *

**A/N: **I really enjoyed writing this chapter, despite the fact that while writing it, I was pulling a Canada – although there's only so much benefit drinking Vodka mixed with lemonade can do, I find it helps me focus a little more so that I can write. Go figure.

I also think that I should mention that for the first 8-10 days of the holidays(I can't be bothered counting and tipsy maths sucks), I'm not going to be posting as I'm away with my awesome special friendy. I probably will be able to throw something together while I'm away anyways, however, so I'll post when I get back.

Please don't hesitate to rate/review and/or ask me any questions, whether fanfic-related or not. c:

Laters,

-Nimu.


	5. Chapter 5

**My Brother and I.**

Warnings (Ch. 5): Torture, swearing, implied rape, blood, vomit, guns, death.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia in any way, shape or form.

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"Wake up, mon chere…" Your eyes shoot open as you immediately begin hyperventilating, attempting to move your arms and legs, only to find them tethered down to the table beneath you. You shriek as you see a mop of blonde hair overtake your field of vision, a piece of cloth being tied over your eyes. You attempt to talk, only to find that you couldn't.

"Don't worree, moi petite pally, theese shouldn't hurt too much…" The man grins as you begin crying, the hard, cold steel tip of a knife being run beneath your bottom lip, cutting into the flesh gently as you close your eyes, a silent whimper escaping you. You try to remain completely still as you feel a tongue lapping at the blood there before moving up to your lips, forcefully tongue-raping you, your eyes wide as you taste the oh-so-familiar taste of wine and chocolate on the mans' lips. You immediately tense as you realise just what his intentions are, the man snickering as he pulls away, straddling your waist as he runs the knife gently along your cheek, pressing a little harder than necessary at times, the blade cutting into it deftly.

"Ohonhonhon, wee've worked eet out, 'ave we?" He grins, moving the knife to your neck, slashing viciously at it a few times, a silent cry escaping you as you feel it rip through you. You close your eyes hard and pray for it to stop as the knife continues moving – it goes to your chest, shoulders, upper arms and lower arms, stopping at your wrists.

"Nice to see my work 'as already been done here…" The man snickers as he levers the tip of the knife into one of the deep wounds that resides there, re-opening it as blood trickles off your wrist and onto the table, your eyes clenched shut and teeth barred as he continues on to your legs, re-opening each and every self-inflicted wound and scar that resides there.

"You reely 'ave made zis eeasy for me, 'aven't you?" He chuckles, stopping as he reaches your manhood. You begin to squirm, madly trying to get the man off of you, silently screaming as the man runs it gently along the underside of it, the sensation making you shiver in the most disturbing way.

"Now… What shall I do to zis one… ?" The man giggles once more, the noise chilling you as he runs the knife back and forth along the underside of your cock, pressing it down gently, a pained croak escaping you as it cuts, the raw feeling of the knife cutting through that making you want to pass out.

You do.

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"Matthew… Matthew. Matthew! P-Please wake up…" You groan softly, coughing and hacking as the noise escapes, feeling blood rise in your throat as your eyes slowly open.

"Oh, thank goodness…" The blonde mutters, pressing a small handtowel against your mouth. You look up at him hesitantly, the look in his emerald eyes never failing to catch you off-guard. Sympathy. Pure, raw sympathy. You move your dominant arm to take the towel from the Brit, only for another strangled cry to escape your throat, your breathing coming out quickly as you choke on your own blood. You allow the other man to pat your back as it all comes up, quickly picking up a bucket with his other hand and positioning it as he sees you begin to heave, everything and anything in your stomach from the last 2 days coming back up in the form of orange, clumpy vomit.

"It's alright, get it all up…" He mumbles softly, holding your oily, dirty hair back as you continue to spew, only stopping after half an hour when your body would heave no more. You allow the pained tears to continue streaming down your cheeks as the man rubs your back reassuringly, moving the vomit-filled bucket and stained towel to the kitchen area before coming back with a clean version of both objects. After another hour of sitting and reassuring you, the man speaks up.

"Matthew…" You look up at him, blinking away the last of your tears. "… You're not going to be able to talk for… A while. Fr- He damaged your throat and vocal cords fairly significantly…" You nod solemnly up at the man, a pained expression gracing your porcelain, bruised features as you move your neck, the act bringing fresh tears to your red, swollen eyes.

"It's alright, Matthew. Just… sleep. I've already tended to your injuries, most are fairly safe, but there are a few that I want to keep an eye on, alright?" You nod once more, knowing very well that he was talking about the deep lacerations that ran horizontally along the expanse of your left wrist. You smile a little as you hear a soft padding noise, the bed shifting a little as a small, white fluffball comes over to you, mumbling a very quiet 'love you,' before licking your cheek gently, curling up to your chest as it falls asleep. You smile at it, tears trickling from your sore, spent eyes as you fall asleep, your dreams once more haunted by nightmares of both your younger brother and the Frenchman you call your papa.

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"_Russian Roulette, huh?" You smile a little as you look up at the man before you, the American and Prussian men standing opposite you looking a tad suspicious, their fingers entwined__._

"_Da." The man smirks, withdrawing the gun from his pocket. "… Everybody know how to play?"_

"_Of course we do, dude. Just get on with it." _

"_Of course. Two bullets and six people – sound fair?" Everybody nods, the Prussian man eyeing the gun with suspicion, although refraining from saying anything. The four of them begin a game of rock-paper-scissors, the overall winner being Alfred. _

_He takes the gun from the violet-eyed Russian, putting it to his head before pulling the trigger, drawing a blank. _

_The American hands the gun over to you, the gun being placed to your head as you pull the trigger, drawing yet another blank, sighing softly in relief. _

_Gilbert reaches over and snatches the gun from you, putting it his head. He grins, clasping his iron cross in his left hand as he pulls the trigger with the right, his shit-eating grin fading instantaneously with a __**BANG**__._

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**A/N: **Man, I love it when I end chapters like this. Anyways, hopefully the story isn't too unbearable to work with. I'm going to be putting up a poll soon regarding to how this story should end, but otherwise, I think I know roughly where I want to go with this.

Please rate/review! It makes me happy, even if I do write about really sad things. : 3

Laters,

-Nimu.


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